


just breathe

by thisisle



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, h/c, i love these two, i wish this was an actual scene, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 08:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisle/pseuds/thisisle
Summary: Takes place at the end of season1 episode 22 Berlin: conclusion - tl;dr: red was shot by tom and then when he goes to clean it later we see the scars, but what if someone else sees them too >:)"Are they from the fire?” She needed him to stop lying. Now it was his turn to pause. He was standing still, bandage from his arm still bloody and held between his fingers. He hadn’t even started cleaning it. The wound had already begun to bleed again, evidenced by a slowly growing circle of crimson through his shirt. Reddington didn’t move his eyes from hers, but took a few moments to reply. “Yes.”
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Kudos: 54





	just breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Idk bro go easy on me it's been a while since I've written a fic but damn it have I fallen in love with blacklist.

Elizabeth Keen was on her way home, but as her car neared the house, she sped up instead of slowing down. It was a hard day, and going home was the last thing she wanted right now. Her afternoon had been buck wild- being held at gunpoint to a man who was once her husband, watching said man shoot Red, and then having to shoot Tom herself multiple times. The whole situation was not very pretty at all, and it was stressing her out to think about it. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with her thoughts. She also couldn’t get the thought that Tom put into her head out. Her father wasn’t really still alive, right? Even Reddington confirmed that. But could she be sure? 

Raymond Reddington. Lizzy felt so bad that Tom had shot him, even if it wasn’t fatal. The man was irritated, cranky, and in pain the whole car ride home and certainly now, as well. She sighed. She didn’t even think to ask how he was feeling or to check on the wound on his arm before she’d left. She remembered that after he quelled her fears about her dead parent, that they sat in companionable silence for a short bit before Lizzy excused herself. And now here she was, driving back to him. What was she doing? If she wasn’t driving, she’d smack her own forehead until it was red as an apple. She shouldn’t care so much for the criminal, nor should she be feeling bad for him on behalf of Tom. 

When Lizzy Keen returned to the building, it was not Red that she saw on the steps, but Dembe. He was guarding silently, but not bothered. He seemed tranquil, at peace. When he saw his superior’s counterpart enter, he stood out of instinct, reaching for his sidearm. When recognition flashed in his eyes, he relaxed, tension fleeing from his body. “Raymond does not want to be bothered,” he said as a way of greeting. Lizzy sighed, smiling sheepishly. “I just wanted to apologize to him for earlier, I’ll really just be in and out. I wanted to check on him.” She wasn’t sure if Dembe was briefed on the situation, but felt he would be trusted enough to know regardless. “Tom shot him earlier while he was trying to save me, I never got to thank him or say sorry about Tom.” Dembe only nodded. So he knew. “I already offered to help; he is annoyed. You are more than welcome to try.” He sidestepped, allowing Lizzy an unobstructed path up the stairs.

The FBI agent looked over her shoulder when Dembe spoke again, telling her which door to go to once she mounted the staircase. She followed the man’s directions, being silent as she went. She felt incredibly guilty as she crept surreptitiously through the hallways. She slowed when she saw shadows cast on a wall. Looking at them, she could make out Reddington’s shape, and ventured into the room. She poked her head around the threshold first, and gasped at what she saw, eyes widening. She couldn’t prevent the tears beginning to pool in her eyes, sticking to her eyelashes when she tried to blink them away. 

The sound of Lizzy startled Reddington, who turned away from her. It wasn’t fast enough that Lizzy didn’t see the scars littering his back. He was hoping that the room was dimmed enough that she didn’t see the whole expanse of them, but he couldn’t tell for sure. By the look on the agent’s face, she had seen most of it. He still turned and started to button his shirt back up in an attempt to hide his old wounds from her. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was in his boxers from the waist down. What hurt Lizzy was that he was hiding the scars, thinking of them as a weakness. He didn’t have to say it for her to know it was what he thought they were. Now it struck her why he always dressed impeccably, and with vests and jackets. He layered up to prevent the old burn scars from being seen and revealed. It made her heart ache deeply. 

Before Lizzy could even say anything, Reddington cleared his throat, reaching for a glass of whiskey that was near the bottle of peroxide. “I wasn’t expecting company.” It was a flat tone, and he kept his head raised, facing the agent. From his hardened gaze arose a challenged aimed directly at her, daring her to come closer. “Did Dembe not talk to you downstairs?” 

“He did, but-”

“Did you take care of Tom?” 

Lizzy gave a sigh of frustration, giving a futile attempt to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Reddington, can you for once care about yourself and stop changing the subject? You shouldn’t be alone right now. Let me help you, please.” She took steps forward now, crossing into his room. 

His features gave a warning to her, brows beginning to furrow. “I’ve had worse done to me. I can survive a bullet wound, Lizzy. I can handle myself, it won’t be an issue. I just have to clean it. You should go home, get some rest.” It was getting increasingly hard to hide his irritation, and it was clear to both of them. It was making him impatient and anxious. Lizzy slowed her steps, even raising her hands out towards him to show peace out of habit. 

“I’m not leaving. Can we please stop worrying about me for a second? Reddington, your back-” 

“There is nothing there for you to see. The lighting is less than inadequate in this room. Don’t worry-”

“Are they from the fire?” She needed him to stop lying.

Now it was his turn to pause. He was standing still, bandage from his arm still bloody and held between his fingers. He hadn’t even started cleaning it. The wound had already begun to bleed again, evidenced by a slowly growing circle of crimson through his shirt. Reddington didn’t move his eyes from hers, but took a few moments to reply. “Yes.”

Lizzy nodded sadly, tears still in her eyes. She wiped at her cheek, disrupting a tear streak before it could get to her lower jaw. “I had no idea. I’m sorry,” she said, looking to his shoulders as if he would turn and show her his back on cue. He didn’t, he stood watching her. He hung his head, before turning around to face the table again, evident he didn’t want to talk further about the matter. He picked up the bottle of peroxide, opening it for when he would use it. Lizzy crossed the space between them, meeting him wordlessly at his side. She busied herself ripping off pieces of tape for the new bandage, which was already laid out. 

Without saying anything, Reddington turned his head to his arm as he began to take his shirt off again. He did it slowly, as not to aggravate the bullet wound. Lizzy could tell it was paining him by the pained hiss he gave as he pulled his arm out of the sleeve. He tried using his hurt arm to take the other sleeve off, but proved to be painful and sluggish. He still would have done it if Lizzy hadn’t moved. She reached to his still clothed arm, pulling the shirt off by the cuff. She let it fall to the floor behind them, definitely not able to be reused. She turned her head to try and get a better look at his back, but he almost immediately turned so that the scars were not facing her. She could still see some of the twisted skin licking at the tops of his shoulders from the front view, but didn’t say anything. He clearly wasn’t ready to show her yet. “Let me see it,” she said quietly, nodding to his bleeding arm. 

“I should have expected that he’d shoot me,” he said absently, shaking his head and looking away from her as he turned, allowing her to take lead and help him. He leaned against the table, baring his injured arm to her. Lizzy began gathering her supplies, setting them around her next to the table. She started with the bottle of peroxide, holding it in one hand. Before she poured the contents to his skin, she paused, eyes lingering back at the table. “Did you want a drink before I do this?” she questioned, gazing at the glass of whiskey still on the table. It was much more than a supposed serving, the glass nearly three quarters of the way full. Reddington pursed his lips for a moment, but eventually nodded. 

Lizzy retrieved the drink, pressing it into his outstretched hand. He raised it to his lips, and showing no signs of stopping. There was the grimace on his face as he drank, and left nothing but a few sips. He gave it back to the agent with a temporarily sour face. He shook his head as if to clear the taste, and allowed his features to relax again. It led Lizzy to wonder how much he’d already had to drink. She gave a nearly inaudible sigh and raised the dark bottle in her hand, poised right above where the bullet had struck him. With her free hand, she cupped it around the area where the bullet had struck, attempting to keep it and him still. She could see his tension building up, slow at first, then more pronounced. The way he braced his hands against the table, then in the way the stress was finding it’s way to his shoulders. “Relax,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.” He only gave a nod in response, closing his eyes. 

Lizzy made a point to begin counting down, but before she could even get to the number two, she poured the peroxide right onto the wound. She watched as Reddington winced, clutched the table with his hands, and tried squirming away. She grasped his wrist lightly, even rubbing soothing circles onto it. “You’re alright,” she cooed, now reaching for the new bandage. He opened his eyes, turning to inspect his newly cleaned injury. He visibly winced again when she started taping the new bandage in place, and once it was done, he moved the arm slightly to test it’s mobility. “Thank you,” he said, reaching for what was left of his drink. He downed it quickly, setting the glass back down on the table and gathering the rest of the supplies left. 

Picking up what he couldn’t hold, she followed him to put them away. She got a view of his back now, frowning at the manipulated, gnarled, scarred, and uneven skin. The agent wondered if they still pained him now, many years after the fire. She looked down at her wrist, then back to the burn scars on Reddington’s back. Her own wrist hurt her sometimes, even when she rubbed at it in bouts of nervousness. She had to ask him, but wasn’t sure if now was a good time. He didn’t plan on letting her see them at all, knowing him. If that was the case, she’d never know. 

“Do they hurt?” she questioned when they got to the bathroom, handing him the extra bandages and gauze to put away for another date. He took them from her, storing them before the two made their way back. “Do what hurt?” he asked. 

“The scars. Your back.”

Still ahead of her, he stopped. “Yes.” He stayed still for just a breath before moving again, heading towards the bed. As he sat down, Liz got another last look at the skin before she went to the lamp on the table, turning it off. She knew that would put him at more ease. “Mine, too,” she said, sitting next to him on the bed, leg pressed against his. She offered her wrist to him, showing the permanent remembrance of the fire on that fateful night. Reddington looked down at it, taking her hand in his. He trailed his fingers lightly over her scar, his touch a ghost. After he’d explored it, he simply wrapped his palm around her wrist, allowing both of their hands to rest on his thigh. Giving a contemplative sigh, he looked up and out the window. Lizzy did the same, and leaned her head on his shoulder lightly. Putting any weight on the limb would aggravate his already hurting arm. The two sat together in silence for a short while. Reddington could feel Lizzy’s eyelashes brush against his freckled skin as she blinked. He knew it was time for both of them to get up when the distance between her blinks grew longer, indicating her tiredness. He was the first to move, disentangling their hands, rousing her.


End file.
